Page 17 of Rising from the Depths

He was surprised at his disappointment as he continued along the path into the jungle — Aymee hadn’t been outside. Was she already at the clinic?

I should stop there and check on Eva.

No. That wouldn’t accomplish anything. He was expected at the dock. There was work to be done; Kronus had given his word, had pledged his aid. He wouldn’t back out of that obligation.

Kronus remained on the path as it cut through the pastures where odd land animals fed on grass and weeds, and soon entered the town. The lighthouse stood vigil above everything, a silent guardian for a place that was anything but silent — The Watch was bustling, just as it was most mornings. Many humans woke with the dawn, though some — like the fishermen before the migration had changed their routines — rose even earlier.

He wound through the now-familiar streets, grateful that relatively few people bid him a good morning, and finally descended the ramp toward the dock. He stopped at the small storage room built into the cliffside at the base of the ramp and retrieved a harpoon gun and a few spare harpoons before continuing onto the dock. The whole structure swayed with the gentle motion of the seawater upon which it floated; it was built in segments that allowed it to rise and fall fluidly with the tide.

Kronus glanced to the side. Today, the water touched the cliffs on either side of the dock. The beach where he’d laid a bleeding, desperate Eva on the sand, where the bodies of her companions had lain motionless beneath a clear, sunny sky, was completely submerged by the high tide.

Vasil stood beside Breckett’s boat, coiling a length of rope around his elbow and palm while the grizzled human checked the boat’s rigging. When Kronus neared, Vasil offered a nod in greeting. Kronus returned it.

“Just in time!” Breckett boomed. “Well, a bit early, but we may as well get to it. Wade’s sailing with his boy, Camrin today, since Camrin’s lady, Jenny, has the day off to watch their little one, and—ah, you don’t need to know all that. We’ve got traps to check today. That’s what matters.”

“The other boats have escorts?” Kronus asked.

“Yes,” Vasil replied, passing the bundle of rope to Breckett. “Brexes, Charos, Jax, and Arkon. Dracchus has a small group patrolling the bay.”

“You two are welcome to ride with me, if you don’t want to swim all the way out to the first traps,” Breckett said.

Vasil lowered himself to gather his gun and harpoon off the dock before grasping the side of the boat and drawing himself into it. Once he’d set his equipment down, he swung his gaze to Kronus. The light gray kraken wore an expectant look on his face.

Kronus held his place, hesitant to join them. He was accustomed to swimming; under the surface, he could lose himself in monitoring his surroundings, and communication was limited to signs and flashes of color. But in a relatively small boat, surrounded only by the water’s surface and the open air — both of which seemed to stretch on endlessly — he’d have little to distract him from his thoughts apart from conversation. Would that be enough?

“Oh, come on,” Breckett urged gruffly. “We won’t bite.” His gaze fell to Vasil before returning to Kronus, and a hint of a grin became visible within his facial hair. “Well,Iwon’t. It’s you quiet ones we’ve got to worry about.”

Vasil arched a brow in question, and Breckett chuckled.

What harm could come of it? Perhaps companionship would prove to be what he needed to finally move his thoughts away from Eva. Nothing else had worked over the last few days. And if Kronus felt out of place amongst them — which he already did — that was just one more thing to keep his mind occupied, wasn’t it?

Kronus extended his front tentacles, grasped the boat railing, and pulled himself into the vessel. Once his rear tentacles had a hold, he placed his weaponry along the bottom and eased himself down nearby. The movements of the water felt more pronounced than they had on the dock. It was a small thing, but it was of comfort to him — a gentle reminder that the sea was within easy reach should he require it.

Breckett saw to the ropes securing the boat to the dock, put his boot against the edge of the platform, and shoved off. He turned toward the mast and manipulated the boom. Within a few moments, the sail caught the wind, and Breckett guided them smoothly out of the bay.

The air over the open water felt different — cooler, breezier, somehow purer. Kronus relished its feel against his skin; it could not compare to swimming, but it had its own charm, offered a unique sense of freedom.

Conversation was sparse; the three passengers seemed content to enjoy the morning. But the way the sun sparkled on the water reminded Kronus of another morning not long before — when he’d rescued Eva from the razorback.

How much bloodshed had he seen in his lifetime? How many creatures had he killed to provide food for his people, how many kraken had he killed to protect females and younglings when Neo led his group in an attack on the Facility? He shouldn’t have been affected by more blood, especially not human blood.

But the attack on Eva and her friends continued to haunt him.

Kronus released a relieved sigh when they reached the first of the bright yellow markers floating on the surface. He and Vasil gathered their harpoon guns as Breckett lowered the sail and slowed the boat, drawing alongside the marker. The human handed Vasil a small sack — its fishy smell suggested it was fresh bait — and the two kraken dove into the water, beginning their descent.

The sea life was sparse until they neared the bottom; the ocean currents guided the migrating schools of fish to other points along the coast, but the resulting relative lack of predators made this an ideal area for various bottom-feeding creatures to thrive — especially hardshells, which the fishermen calledHalorian lobsters.

While Vasil sank to the bottom to inspect the first string of traps, Kronus scanned their surroundings. The water was perhaps six body-lengths deep — deep enough for prowling razorbacks, even under normal circumstances.

Would Kronus have noticed the razorbacks in the bay before the attack if he’d been in the water sooner? Could the kraken have saved four lives instead of one?

Kronus cast aside those questions. Regrets could not change what was already done; he knew that better than most. But he also knew those same regrets could shape the future. They could be lessons, if he allowed them to be; lessons about what was right, what was just, what was honorable.

Vasil grasped the rope connecting the traps to the float overhead and tugged it down several times. A few moments later, the line went taut, and the traps rose off the sea floor. High above, the boat bobbed with Breckett’s efforts as he hauled the trap up. At least six hardshells were inside the wood-and-wire cages.

Kronus and Vasil moved to the next set of traps.

Small fish, seemingly unconcerned with the kraken’s presence, drifted lazily between dancing shafts of sunlight nearby.

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